


Drawn

by Harukami



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harukami/pseuds/Harukami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted Sept 2003</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawn

Damien is watching moths as they flutter around the campfire, drawn by the light. It is his watch, and Senzei and Ciani are deeply asleep. And so he sits and watches the fire, makes sure it keeps going and protects them against invasion by dark fae as best it can.

Movement catches his eye and his gaze is drawn to the dark - just Tarrant. Just, he thinks. Ha.

Gerald Tarrant takes a seat just outside of the circle of light the fire casts. "Reverend Vryce."

"Tarrant." Damien does not ask if the adept has fed. If he has, Damien does not want the guilt of knowing - though he privately doubts it. Tarrant's eyes are a glittering, hungry shade of blue, pale and gleaming like ice or like coldfire. The sight causes a strange mix of emotions - Fear, he decides, and relief. He brought Tarrant here; the deaths of innocents would come upon his head.

But he doesn't want Tarrant buried deep inside his feelings, digging like carrion-worms for choice morsels. Why would he?

"I'll be sleeping soon," Damien says, gaze back on the campfire.

"Indeed."

"Senzei will be taking watch."

Tarrant is silent. Damien turns back to see only a calm veneer of politeness on Tarrant's face.

"Are you looking forward to it?" Damien challenges.

Tarrant's expression goes slightly wry. "Hardly, Reverend Vryce. I've had far better than you."

"Not recently," Damien murmurs. Tarrant is not the kind to connect himself to many in the manner that he was forced by necessity to connect to Damien. A channel, open between them, for life. Damien would use what tools he has.

The adept looks at him blandly. "I will patrol the area until your shift is over." There is a brief, dry bow - Revival manners - and he's gone. A moment later, something dark and unpleasant takes to the air.

Damien feels a certain sense of smugness at having left the adept unable to respond. He turns back to the campfire in time to see a moth self-immolate.

Poor bastard, he thinks.


End file.
